


Something Wicked

by InterruptingDinosaur



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Bucky is really good at healing magic, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny!Steve, Steve can't seem to stay out of fights, more tags to come, they're awkwardly but obviously pining for each other, witch!bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterruptingDinosaur/pseuds/InterruptingDinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not easy being a modern Witch. Between juggling his soaps and candles shop, potion brewing, staying in the good graces of other Folk, and making sure his Familiar stays out of trouble, Bucky hardly has time for anything else. </p><p>However, when a skinny artist who’s perpetually sick and in desperate need of a good healing tonic drops into Bucky’s life, he can’t help but rearrange his priorities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Despite its late arrival this year, summer had already started to disappear. The shadows incrementally stretched and elongated in the evenings while the leaves littered the streets in the beginning of multi-coloured mosaics. Amongst the last days of sun and warmth, no one sensed the promise of something darker slithering up to the windows. The rare few that did notice felt the ache deep in their ancient bones and were clever enough to vanish long before the signs started appearing.

 

Bucky and Natasha had detected the shift when the winds blew through the city, but they were used to change, and had subsequently thought little of it. They had stayed where they were, tucked away in their shop on a quiet street corner and away from the bustling tourist traps.

 

Today, Natasha stood at front window of The Red Room, her expression grim. A small line creased her forehead as a result of the frown that pulled at her lips. She drew the gauzy fabric of her midnight blue shawl closer together, looking every part the formidable Madame Romanova. Her clothes were merely a costume, but they added to the theatrics of her character.

 

“That cat is there again,” she commented.

 

“What cat?” Bucky said without looking up from his inventory list.

 

She turned to glance at him. The faint swish of her sweeping skirt was almost inaudible, but the multiple bangles and bracelets on her wrist jangled lightly in annoyance. “There’s a black cat that’s sitting outside, just staring. It was there yesterday. Honestly, how do you even function with your level of awareness?”

 

“It’s a talent.” He shrugged, but he paused his writing to get up from his stool and join her at the window.

 

There was, indeed, a dark-haired cat sat by the lamp post. Outwardly, it seemed ordinary, but there was something very unnerving about the unblinking way it observed them. He felt like a specimen under a magnifying glass.

 

“I don’t suppose it’s waiting for the owner to come back,” Bucky suggested.

 

Natasha snorted at his wishful thinking. “It looks too grubby to have been dropped off recently. It’s not a Shape Shifter or a Familiar, as far as I can tell from here.”

 

“How do you know?” he asked.

 

“I fed it yesterday, and it let me touch it. I couldn’t sense any spells.”

 

He didn’t immediately dismiss the cat from his mind, but he had enough confidence in Natasha’s abilities to feel slightly relieved. Though, if the cat was looking for scraps, it could easily go across the street to the bakery. Thor fed all the creatures that approached his kitchen door.

 

“Leave it alone,” Bucky advised, going back to his stool. “And stop feeding it. It’ll never leave if you keep doing that.” He made a mental note to double check the wards on the building before the end of the day.

 

It was a slow morning for both of them. Natasha had a couple clients booked later in the afternoon while Bucky still hadn’t had a customer yet. However, the day was still young, and the quietness in the shop gave Bucky a chance to go over his stock.

 

Natasha wandered over to lean on the counter. “What are you doing?”

 

“Trying to decide if I want to pay extra for acacia leaves now, or if I want to wait until spring but risk running out.”

 

“I have some,” she offered. “They’re not exactly fresh though.”

 

Bucky scratched it off his list. “At least it’ll save me from haggle with Zola today.” He repressed the shudder that ran through him when he thought about being forced to endure the squat Dwarf’s unsettling presence. Zola overcharged for everything, but the Witch that Bucky usually bought from wouldn’t be back until next year.

 

“You’re going to The Market today?” Natasha remarked in surprise. “It’s not your usual day.”

 

“I’m out of lavender and hellebore, and I have some errands to run.”

 

“If you’re headed there, I need some more rampion, but only if they were grown under shady oaks and harvested under a full midnight moon.”

 

“Picky,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.

 

“I’ll buy you lunch next week.”

 

“I want the expensive noodles from the Chinese place.”

 

Natasha pretended to narrow her eyes at him. “Fine.”

 

Bucky smirked at his victory.

 

Like any partnership, there were advantages and disadvantages, especially when he worked with his best friend. Natasha did the fortune-telling portion, her services ranging from tarot cards to séance sessions, while Bucky ran the small, innocent-looking, soaps and candles shop in the front.

 

Overall, The Red Room was quite successful despite how skeptical most people considered magic. Most of the other self-professed psychics in the business were charlatans looking to make easy money. It was just a shame witchcraft had cultivated such a poor reputation among the human realm, even if Witches like Natasha and Bucky used it to hide in plain sight.

 

The bell above the front door tinkled and a middle-aged woman came in. Bucky recognized her as one of Natasha’s regular clients, although she’d arrived rather unexpectedly today. Her eyes were wide and her hair was disheveled.

 

“I need to speak with you, Madame Romanova,” she said urgently. “I have to know—” She broke off suddenly and glanced fearfully at Bucky.

 

He couldn’t help but feel a bit stung that the woman looked at him like was about to attack her.

 

“Of course,” Natasha said smoothly in an exaggerated Eastern European accent, slipping into her role with practiced ease. “This way.” She led the client past the doors to the parlour room that she kept in back, and slid the French doors that separated the shop from the hallway closed with a click.

 

Bucky continued his notes, remembering that he was going to have to start gathering ingredients for the stress-free candles that were especially in high demand in October as midterms approached for students. Along with those, autumn-themed scents were always a bestseller, and he remembered that he had leftover vials of apple and pumpkin concentrate scents somewhere in his storage cupboard.

 

A few minutes later, finally satisfied with his work, Bucky shuffled his papers together and closed his notebook.

 

The bell sounded again, and a man came in. He stopped hesitantly, looking cautious as his eyes roved over the yellow wallpaper and the sunny displays.

 

Bucky ran his hands over his jeans as he stood up. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to coax customers to come in from the doorway. “Can I help you?”

 

The man took off his bowler hat quickly, as if suddenly remembering his manners. “I’m looking for a candle.”

 

“I’ve got lots of those.” Bucky gestured around the shop. “Anything in particular.”

 

The man picked up on Bucky’s subtle sarcasm, and his mustache quivered as his mouth quirked up. He scratched his head for a second as he thought it over. “Well, my buddy got this candle from here, and he swears that it’s gotten him the best sleep in months.”

 

“Ah,” Bucky nodded in understanding. “The bedtime ones. I’ve got some over here.” He directed the man over to a particular section of shelving with a myriad of candles in different shapes and containers. “Do you know what scent it was?”

 

“No,” he admitted slowly.

 

One by one, Bucky presented the candles to him. The lines of the man’s shoulders eventually became less tense.

 

“The chamomile and lavender is a popular one.” Bucky unscrewed the lid and offered it to the man who inhaled deeply.

 

“That’s nice,” he said.

 

“Or, there’s the eucalyptus mint.” Bucky held out another jar.

 

“I like that,” the man said smile, taking a second deep breath of the candle. “I want this one.”

 

“Light it twenty minutes before bedtime. Make sure you put it out before you fall asleep,” he told the man. It was always good to remind the customers to practice fire safety even though Bucky made sure all of his candles had anti-flame charms that extinguished themselves after someone stopped paying attention to them.

 

Bucky rang up the purchase and grinned when he handed over the bag. His newest customer tipped his hat and promised that he’d be back if the candle was half as good as his friend swore.

 

Bucky was pleased to hear that. Most of his business relied on word of mouth, and over the years, he’d built up a reputation for having quality products. They did what they promised on the label, whether it was helping reduce anxiety, boosting energy levels, or aiding in a better night’s sleep.

 

Of course, it helped that Bucky’s talent with potion brewing and charm casting helped him infuse the magic into the soaps and candles that he sold. There was just enough in his products to be effective, but not enough that people saw through him.

 

He had started with soaps and candles, but he’d expanded to lotions and lip salves. He was still experimenting with bath salts and powders, but their chalky consistency proved more difficult to blend with healing magic.

 

Bucky busied himself with dusting and rearranging a display of lemon bar soaps. Afterwards, he pushed open the sliding doors and headed to the kitchen. He passed by Natasha’s door, but the sound-proof charm she’d set up was effective and he couldn’t hear anything.

 

As he finished his own cup of tea, he could hear movement and noises in the hall. Natasha’s voice was low, and while Bucky couldn’t make out the words she said to her client, he could sense the tension in her answers. He got up from the table and made a second mug of tea using his calming blend of knotgrass, peppermint, and shredded lockewood root.

 

When the client finally left, he went to Natasha’s parlour. Brushing past the beaded curtain in her doorway, he waited for a reaction from her. She was stretched out on the couch, looking lithe and elegant despite the pinched expression that Bucky knew was a growing headache. When she didn’t say anything, he crossed the intricately patterned carpet to set the tea on the mahogany coffee table in front of her.

 

After sessions, Natasha always needed some time to collect herself. Magic was draining, but divination especially exhausted her. Some days, the visions she saw were especially distressing. It was always a delicate balancing act of how much to reveal. Telling her clients too much was dangerous and self-destructive, even if she had the best of intentions.

 

Bucky had once asked how Natasha’s abilities worked. Witchcraft was such a complex discipline. It was a varied skill that was equal parts innate talent and practice. Bucky found his niche in healing potions and charms, but Natasha happened to the first Witch he had met with abilities like hers.

 

She had explained it with great difficulty, but she compared it to looking into a restless pond. The visions were unclear and they kept changing. Every choice influenced the future, but even some decisions kept coming back to the same outcome.

 

Natasha never shared with Bucky what she saw with her clients. Some had heavier fates than others, but he could tell which clients were the ones she couldn’t save. Her voice would be strained for days and she would stare listlessly into nothing at times. Sometimes, he caught her lingering over familiar faces in the obituaries, lips pressed tight and expression blank.

 

It was a burden, he knew, to see so much but change so little.

 

Bucky moved around the room and turned on the floor lamps even though he would have preferred to pull back the heavy drapes that framed the tall windows. She always complained that the glaring sunlight ruined the opulent, Victorian effect of the rich burgundy walls and furniture.

 

He put on the old record player and let the soft swell of piano and cello fill the room as he sat the arm chair adjacent to the sofa. Natasha quietly sipped her tea while Bucky studied the grimoire he’d recently borrowed from Wanda. Above them, dangling crystals from the ornate chandelier swayed gently from the magic leftover from Natasha’s previous appointment.

 

Eventually, Natasha gradually returned to herself. She grabbed a book of her own and Bucky refilled her tea before they both settled in to read. They understood each other well enough that didn’t need to fill the moments between them with meaningless chatter, and the morning passed without a word between them.

 

\---

 

The Market was a pocket oasis where worlds and realms overlapped, and Folk gathered to meet and interact. It was only a few blocks away from The Red Room, and when the evening fell upon the city in rosy and golden hues, Bucky closed shop and gathered several of vials of his own homemade potions in his satchel to trade with.

 

Bucky deliberately took the long way there. The sunset was too beautiful to waste. It would be cold and grey in just a few short months. Already, there was a slight breeze stirring the trees and he was glad he had the foresight to bring his jacket.

 

After he crossed the street and passed by the toy shop run by the temperamental half-Pixie, he felt the uneasy sensation of being watched. Being wary, he paused at a crosswalk and pretended to scan for traffic. He subtly glanced around. To his surprise, he found the black cat behind him.

 

Abandoning his pretense, he turned around and scowled. “I don’t have any food for you,” he warned. He hoped that whatever game it was playing, it would soon lose interest.

 

However, it continued to follow him until they arrived at what seemed like an abandoned plot of land nestled between two derelict, brick buildings. A few sad weeds poked through the soil, and there was garbage that had collected along the chain-linked fence. On the whole, it was unremarkable to anyone who walked past it.

 

Bucky flattened his hand against the metal and pressed gently until it yielded a previously hidden, large tear in the fence. No one around paid him any attention. Part of The Market’s protection was that no one would see him enter or leave.

 

On the other side, the brightness of the perpetual summer day blinded Bucky for a brief moment. The busy and raucous noises of The Market welcomed him. The long cobblestoned alleyway was busy with its typical hustle and bustle. Folk had their booths and tables set up, displaying a variety of enchanted and magical goods.

 

Bucky was pleased to see the nomadic Witches of the North were back and had parked their colorful caravans and vardos in a grand display. He traded two bottles of stomach cure in exchange for dried hornbeam stirring rods from them. The ones he had were all worn out, and he’d been forced to use the cheaper, ash ones.

 

Continuing on, he moved from one vendor to the next, crossing off all the items he needed from his list. He stayed firmly resistant when they tried to sell him more than he needed. As much as he wanted a self-writing quill or a fine pair of Elven-made gloves, he didn’t need them. Nonetheless, he did pause to appreciatively stare at a display of sharpened glass daggers with jade handles.

 

The proprietor, a beautiful woman with gleaming chestnut hair and lipstick a touch too red for any human, tipped her head and gave him a sly look. “Something caught your eye?” she asked coolly with a touch of an accent. Her voice was a pleasing lilt, and he could hear the way her tongue curled gently around the vowels.

 

“Just admiring, Bucky replied with a polite smile.

 

She smiled back with an edge of sharpness, just enough to leave Bucky feeling unsettled. He backed away slowly, careful not to unintentionally offend. Folk could be capricious creatures, easily insulted and slow to forgive. There were so many glamours and disguises that it was not difficult to hide one’s true appearance, and it was best to be careful around them, even if they seemed harmless at first glance

 

Bucky’s last stop was Bruce’s table, which had a spread of specialty remedies and pouches of dried herbs. Bucky could make out the labels on some of them. Wolfsbane and holly helped the Were-Folk’s shifts to be more gradual and less painful. The bundles of belladonna and feverfew were meant to be tied around an animal’s neck to prevent poltergeist possession.

 

Bruce had set up a piece of canvas to give him enough shade as he sat nearby on his foldable chair. He looked weary, his tousled dark hair and shadows underneath his eyes were signs of recent stress. Despite that, Bruce smiled widely at Bucky. He pulled off wire-rimmed glasses and set aside the copy of _The Island of Dr. Moreau_ that he’d been reading.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Bruce greeted.

 

Bucky pulled out the package of specially prepared tea that he’d brought. “I needed some supplies. I didn’t know if you’d be here today or not, but I thought I’d see.”

 

Bruce’s eyes lit up as he accepted the parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I was starting to run low. I swear, these teas are the only things that keep me sane after long days. I’ve tried different blends from others, but they’re just not as good.” He handed Bucky the packet of dried arrow root and high quality anise seeds in exchange.

 

They chatted for a few minutes about the benefits of substituting dogwood for witch hazel when brewing dreamless sleep potions, but soon their conversation shifted to the gossip of The Market. According to Bruce, a Phoenix had recently moved into the Gargoyle brothers’ usual vending spot. Unsurprisingly, the Gargoyles were not pleased with the newcomer, but they had wisely decided not challenge her and decided to move elsewhere. Bucky knew they would have no trouble finding a new spot.

 

There was no shortage of space in The Market; it was seemingly endless. Bucky could keep wandering down that alleyway and never have it end if that was what he desired. The Market was alive and constantly shifting itself to accommodate the needs of the Folk.

 

Bruce stopped mid-sentence and squinted at something behind Bucky.

 

Turning to see what had caused Bruce’s confused expression, Bucky saw the cat again. It sat a few feet away, looking tentative about whether to approach.

 

“Is that yours?” Bruce questioned with a nod of his head.

 

“It followed me here,” Bucky sighed.

 

Bruce pulled out a bag of what Bucky assumed were treats from one of the pockets of the jacket he had hanging over his chair. He offered one to the cat who approached, nibbled at it before swallowed the rest. It sniffed Bruce for more.

 

Up close, Bucky could see that the long-haired cat was in need of some good grooming. Its fur was matted and there was dried mud on its tail.

 

“It’s unusual for animals to accidentally wander in,” Bruce mused.

 

“My friend said she couldn’t sense any magic on it though.”

 

“Let me try,” Bruce said. He hummed in deliberation for a moment, and then grabbed one of the little vials with a clear blue liquid inside. He distracted the cat with another treat, and uncorking bottle, sprinkled some drops onto the cat’s head.

 

They both waited for something to happen, but the result was anticlimactic. The cat sneezed, licked its paw, and wiped at the wet spot on its head.

 

“What was that?” Bucky asked. He studied the bottle, thinking that it might be useful to keep something like this around.

 

“Mandrake essence with a bit of other stuff mixed in there. It’s my own recipe. It dissolves glamours and reverses appearance spells. If it wasn’t really a cat, it would have revealed its true form.” Bruce scratched the cat behind the ears and it purred. “It doesn’t mean it’s not magical though.”

 

“That’s a relief,” Bucky muttered.

 

Bruce ran a hand down the length of its back, checking for any obvious injuries. “It looks like it’s been on its own for a while.”

 

“You want it?”

 

“It wouldn’t be a good idea,” Bruce said without elaboration.

 

Bucky didn’t inquire further. He’d learned that there were some questions that he didn’t want to know the answers to. Bucky wasn’t exactly sure what kind of Folk Bruce was, but Bucky could sense a darkness to the other man that lurked just below the surface.

 

“It doesn’t quite behave like a normal cat,” Bruce concluded, and Bucky resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s possible that it’s a crossbreed, but I can’t sense anything worrisome at the moment. If you swing by my clinic this week, I could give it a more thorough exam.”

 

“It’s not my cat,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Think it over,” Bruce said, clearly amused. He handed Bucky one of his business cards.

 

“I didn’t know you were a veterinarian,” Bucky exclaimed. He had known that Bruce was from New York, just like Bucky, but they hadn’t exchanged too many details about their professional lives outside of The Market.

 

After getting an extra bottle of mandrake essence for himself and saying goodbye to Bruce, Bucky exited The Market the same way he came in. It was already dark in the city, and it took him a few moments for his eyes to adjust back to the night time. A chill had settled in now, and the wind had cold bite to it that made Bucky shiver.

 

Walking back, the cat silently kept pace beside him this time.

 

“I don’t care what Bruce says. You’re not staying with me,” Bucky warned. “I don’t want a cat.”

 

The cat didn’t reply, and when they were back at The Red Room, it sat down in its usual spot as Bucky unlocked the front door and went in.

 

After putting away his supplies, he took the rest of his belongings upstairs above the shop where he lived.

 

He put out an offering milk and honey cakes for the Brownies that occasionally stopped by to clean up after him when he left a mess. He was grateful for their helpfulness, but they could still do a lot of damage if he displeased them.

 

Reheating the leftover spaghetti for dinner, he pushed back the curtain to peek outside. The cat was still there, a fluffy black ball that was illuminated by the dim street lamp. Turning away from the window, he turned on the TV and tried to watch a rerun of a comedy show, but his mind kept wandering back to the scruffy animal outside.

 

He felt his resolve breaking as he sighed loudly and stared up at the blank ceiling. By the first commercial, he was already going back downstairs again.

 

The cat perked up when he unlocked the door, and it jumped to its feet when it saw Bucky.

 

“One night,” he said firmly, knowing full well that it understood him. He held the door open and the cat eagerly dashed in. He led it upstairs where he picked out the meatballs from his food and set out it out on a separate plate.

 

The cat pounced eagerly, eating noisily and devouring it in a matter of minutes.

 

While it ate, he set up a temporary litter box with an old paint tray and the kitty litter he kept around for deodorizing purposes. He was pleased that he had some on hand for his unexpected guest.

 

Afterwards, the cat started to sniff around nosily, investigating living room. It started at the baseboards of the wall before working its way to the cluttered coffee table.

 

“Stay off the furniture,” Bucky called out, and it respectfully backed away from the worn, brown couch.

 

Satisfied, Bucky went to the bathroom to take a shower. At some point under the hot water, he felt a cold draft of air, and when he’d sufficiently rinsed the shampoo from his eyes, he saw the cat had clambered onto the ledge of the tub.

 

“We need to set some boundaries,” he said while glaring at it, but the cat reached a paw out to swat at the water, making a game out of it until it leaned too far in and lost its balance.

 

Bucky snorted in laughter as the cat thrashed in shock and confusion. He took a step back in case any claws came out, but after a moment, the cat calmed down and stayed under the spray.

 

“You look like you could use a good wash,” Bucky told it. He reached down and washed it the best he could, scrubbing with his bare hands. He blotted the cat dry with a towel and blow dried it afterwards. Given its long and thick fur, it was a lengthy process, but at least it looked slightly cleaner when he was done.

 

Sitting back on the couch again, he pulled out an old bestiary of magical creatures from his bookshelf. Shuffling though the pages, he couldn’t find anything in there that was even remotely close to what was curled up by his feet at the moment. “Could you be a Sphinx,” he wondered aloud, but the cat didn’t give any suggestion either way.

 

Bucky eventually gave up, and finished the novel he’d been reading the past week. He didn't mean to, but he found himself, an hour later, ranting about how disappointed he was by the stupid ending. The cat made sympathetic crooning noises and it felt nice to have someone listen.

 

At nine o’clock, he could barely keep his eyes open. When he looked down at the cat, he found it had already fallen asleep on the blanket bed he’d laid out for it. Yawning loudly, he went to bed too.

 

Everything else, he decided, he could deal with tomorrow.

 

\---

 

The next morning, the cat was waiting patiently outside of his bedroom door when Bucky woke up. After he fed it more leftover meatballs, it went with Bucky downstairs when it was time for him to open the shop. Yesterday, he had planned on looking up animal shelters, but now that the cat was actually here, he felt much more reluctant to evict it. 

 

It had curled up beside Bucky when he sat down at the counter, but it kept an eye on him, almost as if it was afraid that he would disappear if it fell back asleep. When he left the room, it went with him, following behind like a shadow. He could sense its vulnerability, and he settled into a stream of chatter that seemed to reassure the cat of his presence. 

 

Natasha arrived half an hour late. When she saw the cat, she smirked, but didn’t say a word to him. He didn’t offer any explanation, and just when he thought he’d escaped her nosy interrogation, his phone rang ten minutes later.

 

“You got a cat?” Clint shouted eagerly on the other end.

 

“She told you already?” He pressed the phone to his chest as he called out the Natasha. “Mind your business!”

 

Natasha appeared, leaning against the door jamb, listening in on Bucky’s conversation with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Is this the same cat Natasha said wouldn’t leave you guys alone?” Clint asked.

 

“Maybe,” Bucky hedged.

 

Clint let out an enthusiastic laugh that made Bucky’s ear hurt. “You’ve been chosen,” he whooped. “I’m coming to the shop!” He hung up before Bucky could get another word in.

 

At least Bucky wasn’t going to have to have an issue with letting the cat live with there. Being friends with his landlord certainly had advantages to it, especially when he arrived twenty minutes later with Lucky and a box of doughnuts. The one-eyed dog, upon seeing the cat, let out a bark of happiness, and ran over to greet it, but the cat hid behind Bucky’s legs.

 

Clint moved into the kitchen, and Bucky and Natasha trailed after him, lured by the promise of pastries from Thor’s bakery. As soon as the cardboard box was on the table, Natasha dove at it and got the cream-filled doughnut before Bucky.

 

He frowned at her, pretending that he was too mature to fight with her over something as trivial as food.

 

She took an extra big bite just to rub it in his face.

 

He settled for the powdered doughnut instead.

 

“Save some for me,” Clint said disapprovingly. He turned back to rummage through the cupboards.

 

“You want tea?” Bucky offered jokingly, knowing that Clint adamantly refused to drink tea because he insisted that he would be “betraying coffee”.

 

Clint snorted in reply. He pulled out the coffee maker that they kept for him underneath the kitchen sink. Grabbing a mug, he peered at it suspiciously. “Is it to safe to drink from this or will it turn me into a frog?”

 

“Why don’t you find out?” Natasha snickered.

 

“Rude,” Clint said, but then reconsidered the idea. “So, if you kissed me, would I turn into a prince?”

 

“I don’t think it works that way if it’s the Witch that turned you in the first place,” Bucky scoffed.

 

After Clint made and poured his coffee, he peered at the cat that was still huddled close to Bucky. Lucky had gone over to Natasha and put his head on her lap. “So,” Clint started. “Cat. Explain.”

 

Sighing, Bucky told them about the events of last night. Clint interrupted a few times when he was confused and needed an explanation. His only connection to magic was having a Witch as a girlfriend. Otherwise, he was completely ordinary and human.

 

“But, you are keeping it, right?” Clint urged.

 

“I don’t know the first thing about keeping a cat,” Bucky confessed, considering the idea in his head. The two of them were already adjusting to each other's habits, and it seemed unfair to kick the cat out now after it had behaved so well the evening before.

 

“I can help,” Clint insisted, and even Lucky barked in approval.

 

Taking the rest of the morning off, he and Clint took the cat to see Bruce. The animal clinic wasn’t too far away from The Red Room. It was well maintained and welcoming with large, artistic photographs of smiling animals hung in the waiting room.

 

Bucky didn’t have to wait long. The receptionist waved him in after a few minutes and Bruce met him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering when you were going to cave,” he said.

 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have a choice,” Bucky replied.

 

The cat, who had been deposited on the table, affectionately bumped its head against his hand.

 

He left the cat with Bruce for scans and examinations and went back into the waiting room where Clint was absorbed in a trashy celebrity magazine.

 

When Bucky was called back in again, he found Bruce finishing writing some notes on a clipboard. The cat still sat on the table, grooming one of its paws. “Well, we know that cat is female,” Bruce said. “And if I had to give my best guess, I would say she’s part ubaste.”

 

“She’s what?” Bucky said in surprise. He hadn’t heard of that creature before.

 

Bruce brought his edition of a more detailed bestiary from his cluttered desk.

 

The cat sniffed curiously at it, but other than that, it hardly reacted when the heavy tome was dropped on the metal table.

 

He pointed to the page that he must have been reading earlier. “Ubaste,” Bruce repeated. “They’re intelligent cat-like creatures, the same kind the ancient Egyptians used to worship. Although, they’re no longer found in the human realm anymore. They retreated back to their own territories around 5th century BCE.”

 

“So, what’s this one doing here?”

 

“She’s a descendent of them. Her bloodline is mostly domestic house cat at this point, but she’s still much more intelligent than your average feline.”

 

The cat seemed to preen at the comment, sitting up straighter and puffing her chest out. Bucky chuckled and ran a hand over her soft head.

 

“I should also mention that she’s pregnant, so a congratulations is probably appropriate”

 

“Pregnant?” Bucky echoed incredulously. He stopped scratching.

 

“It explains her behaviour and why she singled you out. She was probably looking for a safe home and someone to take care of her and the kittens which will arrive in...” Bruce checked his information. “…roughly three weeks.”

 

Bucky took a moment to process the news. He felt the cat rub up against his arm, probably in an effort to placate him. “Okay,” he said finally because he’d made a decision to commit, and he wasn’t going to abandon her, pregnant or not. He definitely hadn’t expected the kittens though.

 

He and Clint took her to the groomers next to get her properly washed and trimmed. She looked much less ragged and more like she just walked off the cover of a _Cat Fancy_ magazine. Clint also showed him the joys of shopping for pet supplies and the sheer volume of products made Bucky’s head hurt.

 

It was worth it, Bucky decided later. In the quiet of his apartment, the cat was a soothing presence and the vibrations of her purring reminded him that he didn’t have to be lonely anymore.

 

\---

 

“You’re spoiling her,” Natasha remarked with no small amount of amusement. She eyed the overlarge box that had been just delivered to the shop.

 

“It might be for me,” protested Bucky even though it really wasn’t. It was the deluxe cat scratching post that he had ordered online.

 

“Considering that every package dropped off this past week has been for Pushka, I highly doubt it.”

 

Pushka, upon hearing her name, wandered over to them. Her tail swished from side to side as she waited for Bucky to struggle with the packaging to finally revealing to her what was inside.

 

It had been Natasha who’d named her because Bucky was hopeless at settling on one. He had tried out various names in hopes that something would feel right, but she had responded to everything he called her and gave no indication of preference. So, Natasha had started calling her _lapushka_ affectionately, and it stuck. Bucky had shortened it to Pushka, though.

 

Pushka became part of the natural routine, waking up first every morning to greet Bucky. She no longer followed him around as much. Although, if he was working, she always stayed downstairs with him. She usually napped on the pillow behind Bucky’s counter or on Natasha’s lap when she didn’t have any clients.

 

Bucky took the scratching post upstairs. When he came back down, he saw that Pushka had climbed up on one of the counters. She craned her neck to peer out the window. He picked her up before she could topple over

 

“What’s out there?” he asked, standing at the window and cradling her.

 

There wasn’t anything unusual outside that Bucky could make out at first, but a flash of gold from across the street caught his attention. After a moment, he realized it was the bright sun reflecting off of a young man’s blond hair. His slight shoulders were hunched and his head was bent as he walked down the street. Bucky couldn’t make out the features of his face, but he could see him pushing his hair back from his forehead.

 

Something about him held Bucky’s rapt attention. He continued to watch, even after the figure disappeared from view.

 

Pushka had long since lost interest. She chirruped at Bucky to put her down and started to bat her paw against his face— a sure sign he had ignored her far too long.

 

He set her down just as the bell rang. Bucky looked up to see four chatty, old women walk in. He took a deep breath and smiled as they started to ask him questions all at once

 

The rest of the day saw no pause in customers, and the man from across the street slipped from Bucky’s mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to AlexandriaKeating ([ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandriakeating/works), [tumblr](http://alexandriakeating.tumblr.com/)) for being a fantastic beta reader!!
> 
> Special shout out to [spacepunkstevie](http://spacepunkstevie.tumblr.com) and [ witchbarnes](http://witchbarnes.tumblr.com) whose witch!bucky headcannons were inspirations. (Clint thinking that tea is a betrayal of coffee is one of [spacepunkstevie's](http://spacepunkstevie.tumblr.com).)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, consider [ reblogging](http://chrisevansleftboob.tumblr.com/post/132030290009/something-wicked-author-interruptingdinosaur) it? Also, my [ tumblr](http://chrisevansleftboob.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hi. 
> 
> Comments and feedback are always appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Possible trigger warnings for Bucky accidentally spiking Steve's tea* - See full summary end of chapter.**

The thing about magic was that it could behave in strange and unpredictable ways. At times, it was temperamental and delicate, and the consequences of getting a spell or a potion wrong could be disastrous. It took years of careful study and practice to learn it properly.

 

Despite the arduous work, Bucky loved the feeling of control and comfort he got from his magic. He absolutely relished the quiet evenings he set aside for his Craft. On those nights, he got lost in tracing over the cracked pages of the spellbooks, translating the old languages, and combining the all the ingredients together to create something tangible.

 

However, tonight was anything but relaxing as Bucky rushed around the messy kitchen trying to locate the bottle of crocodile bile. Once found, he measured out a teaspoon of it while trying not to gag at the rotten smell. He added it to the immune-bolstering potion he was currently brewing and impatiently tapped the side of the pot, trying to get the last of the molasses-thick substance off the spoon.

 

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky reassured Pushka, who was sitting on the counter, watching him. He felt pleased with himself until, suddenly, a bubble rose to the surface of the mixture and popped, releasing a particularly vile stench. Coughing, Bucky jumped back and pressed the sleeve of his shirt to his mouth and nose. He was trying not to inhale any of the fumes while ineffectively waving the air.

 

“It’s a little bad,” he admitted when the cloud of stink dispersed.

 

Pushka retreated further down the counter before coming back with a bottle of vanilla extract held in her mouth.

 

“Thanks,” he said as he said when she dropped it onto his palm. He wiped the cat spit off of the little bottle on his pants first, then uncorked it, and added a generous amount in. Then, for good measure, he also added a handful of mead wort to hide whatever aftertaste the bile would inevitably leave.

 

He moved on to crush the hyssop seeds with the pestle and mortar before adding the powder into the potion as well. He tested the temperature of the liquid as he made some mental adjustments to the recipe he was following. The one in his spellbook was written for a cauldron rather than the large stockpot that Bucky was using.

 

Hardly any Witch in the human realm used cauldrons anymore, except for the diehard traditionalists and the New Age hipsters. Bucky inherited a silver one from his grandmother, but it usually sat in storage until he really needed it. Well-made cauldrons were expensive, heavy, and cumbersome. They took forever to heat up, and if they weren’t scrubbed clean enough, remnant magic from previous uses would spoil subsequent potions.

 

Bucky checked the window at the front to see it was raining yet before going back to finely chop the mullein roots. The mullein needed to be added last into the potion last, but a rainstorm was predicted to start at some point this evening. Any extra moisture in the air would ruin the sensitive roots, and Bucky’s potion would be incomplete and wasted.

 

He was running out of time, and even the soft music playing in the background did nothing for his anxiety.

 

He tried to work as fast as he could without sacrificing thoroughness and quality. Usually, he kept his workspace organized to prevent any accidental mix-ups, but tonight, the kitchen looked like an absolute disaster zone.

 

Pushka sat on the counter, amongst the mess of vials, measuring spoons, and spilled, Himalayan salts. She occasionally flicked her fluffy tail while she quietly observed Bucky. Sometimes, when he turned around, she would be there, pushing the ladle or a bottle towards him. Half of the time, she had the wrong item, but he appreciated her effort.

 

Wiping his hands on his apron, he consulted the open potions book again even though he had the instructions memorized.

 

“Shredded Spanish moss,” he muttered to himself. He looked around, trying to find the brown package amongst the clutter. There was a crinkling of paper and a faint mew from Pushka. He looked over to see her nosing her way into an open packet.

 

Bucky gasped loudly. “Get that out of your mouth!” he shouted as panic overtook him. He dropped the book with a loud thump and sprinted over to her.

 

Pushka looked up in surprise, dropping the mouthful of the worm-like roots. Immediately, he swept the Spanish moss away from her reach. She gave a confused meow.

 

“It’s poisonous when it’s raw,” Bucky explained. He checked to make sure she didn’t have any leftover pieces in her mouth, and put her down on the floor. “I know you want to help, but you can’t pick up everything with your mouth. It’s not good for you.”

 

Pushka made an irritated noise at being displaced, but Bucky mostly ignored her.

 

For a cat, she had a penchant for getting into things she wasn’t supposed to. Two days ago, she’d accidentally knocked over a bottle of Natasha’s Babylonian night powder. She was lost in a cloud of darkness for hours until the spell dissipated. Ever since the incident, she kept to well-lit areas and started sleeping on Bucky’s bed at night.

 

Pushka sulked in the corner, but then eventually relented to go eat the treats he’d shaken out for her to make up for his outburst. After a while, she got bored of watching from the floor, and fell asleep on the oversized pillow he’d dragged in for her.

 

Bucky added the last of the roots in and stirred the wooden spoon counter clockwise three more times. “ _Testor te curandi corporis animique_ ,” he recited. Satisfied with the final result, he took the pot off the heat of the stove to cool.

 

Barely fifteen minutes later, Bucky heard the wind pick up and the sound of rain slamming against the windows. Suppressing a tired yawn, he finished rinsing the last of his mixing bowls.

 

Pushka woke up, and leveled Bucky a bleary look, as if to say, _why aren’t you done yet?_ Then, she cocked her head, and padded out of the kitchen. Minutes later, when he was drying his hands on a towel, he heard her meowing. He disregarded it at first, thinking that she was impatient for him to head back upstairs with her, but her cries became more insistent until he finally went to go investigate.

 

He followed the noise until he found Pushka sitting in the hallway by the back door. “What? What is it?” he asked.

 

Pushka made another distressed sound. He raised an eyebrow at her. “This isn’t to get me back for yelling earlier, is it?”

 

She reared up on her hind legs and reached ineffectively for the knob until he finally unlocked the back door. Bracing himself for whatever might be on the other side, he pulled it open.

 

There was nothing there but the darkness of the alleyway and the patter of the downpour on the wet pavement. A gust of wind made him flinch as he was slapped in the face with the pelting rain. He was about to close the door again when he heard scuffling and a muffled yelp of pain.

 

Bucky frowned as he strained his ears. He couldn’t see anything. The weak light of the hall light was useless and he didn’t have the foresight to grab a flashlight. He heard the sound again, and this time, there was a muffled voice talking. He couldn’t make out words, but the tone sounded vaguely threatening.

 

“Hey!” he shouted before he could stop himself. “Who’s out there?”

 

Whoever was in the alley must have gotten spooked because they started running. The echo of their footsteps became fainter until they were gone.

 

Both Bucky and Pushka waited by the door, still continuing to stare out into the dim darkness. Bucky knew there was still someone or something in that alley from the way her ears flickered. She meowed at Bucky again, and pushed her head against his leg.

 

“Stay here,” he instructed. He took a hesitant step outside.

 

He hoped that whoever or whatever was out here, it wasn’t something he was going need more than a repelling spell for. As he inched closer to the street, he heard a low, barely audible groan this time.

 

He could make out a figure sprawled on the ground. When he got close enough to place a hand on the shoulder, the person reared up. Luckily, Bucky’s quick instincts allowed him to dodge the poorly aimed punch.

 

“Woah! Easy there. I’m just trying to help,” Bucky said defensively.

 

The person—definitely a guy— collapsed again with a grunt. When he didn’t move, Bucky gently prodded him until he tried to unsuccessfully balance on all fours.

 

Sighing, Bucky hoisted the guy up and swung an arm over his shoulders. He was surprised by how light he was. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this miserable rain.” He easily dragged the stumbling guy inside.

 

Before Bucky deposited him onto a chair, he paused to quickly scan the kitchen for any incriminating and obviously magical things he may have left out, but they were all safely put away and out of view.

 

Getting the first aid kit from the cupboard above the refrigerator, he opened it on the table.

 

“Okay, let’s see what the damage is,” he said. When Bucky looked up again and saw the guy clearly for the first time, whatever else he had planned on saying after that died on his tongue.

 

The guy was, in short, unexpectedly stunning. His narrow face and fine cheekbones made him look ethereal, almost like the otherworldly Fae. It wasn’t unusual for Folk to weave their glamours to look impossibly beautiful, but there was something innately human about his red flushed skin and bleeding wounds.

 

He also looked familiar, but Bucky couldn’t remember where he’d seen him before.

 

They stared at each other until the guy started coughing, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Bucky immediately moved to help him, but found himself at a loss for any actual technique beyond gently patting the guy’s back. If anything, it seemed to make it worse as his chest struggled for air.

 

He waved his arm at Bucky to stop, and Bucky stepped back and waited for the guy to start breathing regularly again.

 

“I’m fine,” the guy finally said, though slightly out of breath. His voice was deeper than Bucky had anticipated and he had to repress a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, wet clothes he was in.

 

“You don’t look fine,” Bucky said as he turned to rummage through a drawer. He got a tea towel out and handed it to the guy.

 

He looked unfocused and stared blankly at the towel until Bucky pressed it to the bleeding lip.

 

“You need me to call the cops?” Bucky asked.

 

“No,” he said.

 

“You didn’t lose anything, did you?” Bucky saw that the guy still had his messenger bag slung over his thin body, but he could have lost his wallet. “I could lend you some money for a cab home.”

 

The guy shook his head. “He wasn’t after my stuff.”

 

“That doesn’t explain why I found you bleeding in my alley.”

 

Hesitantly, he admitted, “He was bothering a girl at a bus stop. He didn’t react well when I told him to leave her alone.”

 

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” Bucky said dryly.

 

“It’s not that bad. You should have seen him before he ran off.” He winced as Bucky cleaned the cuts.

 

“Sure, Fight Club, I believe you.” Bucky finished and headed to the freezer. “So, you got a name?” he asked casually.

 

“Steve.”

 

Bucky got a bag of frozen peas and handed it to Steve without any comment.

 

“Thanks,” he said simply. He dutifully pressed it to his rapidly, darkening eye, but then startled in surprise. They both looked down to see the cat brushing up against Steve’s leg.

 

“Pushka,” Bucky warned. He reached forward to haul her back. “Sorry,” he apologized. “We’re still working on boundary issues.”

 

“I was just surprised,” Steve said.

 

After excessive wiggling, Pushka freed herself from Bucky’s grasp. However, instead of going back to curiously investigate the new guest like he had expected, she sprinted out of the kitchen. Bucky sighed as he got off from the floor. He really didn’t understand her behavior sometimes.

 

Getting a pot of fast healing salve from the cupboard, he dipped two fingers into the jelly substance. When he attempted to apply it, Steve gave him a strange, wide-eyed look.

 

“It’s for the bruises,” Bucky said.

 

“Thanks,” Steve said, his eyes shining with fierce determination. “But I’ll be okay.”

 

“I know what I’m doing.”

 

“No, really. It doesn’t even hurt,” Steve continued, clearly lying his ass off.

 

“And if I let you walk out the front door of here, people are going think I did that. It’s bad for business, so quit yapping and hold still.”

 

Defeated, Steve finally let Bucky spread the salve on his face. He winced when Bucky pressed on a particularly tender spot. Slowly, Bucky spread it on the split lip and bruising that was starting to form on his jaw, paying attention to keep his touch light and impersonal. He ran his thumb along the defined jaw bone, and stopped at the spot right before it curved into his neck.

 

Perhaps, now that the adrenaline had worn off, Bucky noticed that the way Steve’s eyelashes framed his blue eyes. They swept his cheeks whenever he blinked.

 

After several moments, Bucky realized that Steve’s breathing had become shallow. The Kappa jelly had an acrid smell, and though Bucky had tried to mask it as best as he could with peppermint, it apparently wasn’t enough.

 

A clap of loud thunder broke the spell, and Bucky pulled his hand back as quickly and politely as possible. He turned away, and he was proud of himself when he was able to screw the lid of back onto the container without his hands shaking.

 

When he turned back, Steve’s cheeks were starting to flush pink, and Bucky figured it was the ointment he’d just spread on there. Already, the bruises on Steve’s skin didn’t seem as bad as before, and by tomorrow evening, most of them would be faded to a faint yellow.

 

Bucky searched for something else to say. He could usually count on his talent for always having the right words on the tip of his tongue. However, in the presence of Steve, it appeared that Bucky’s charm, along with his simple social skills, had vanished.

 

“I should probably go,” Steve said hoarsely after a moment. He gave another cough.

 

“It’s still raining out there,” Bucky said. “You’d better wait until it lets up. No offense, but you look like you’re one chill away from getting pneumonia.”

 

“I don’t want to impose,” Steve said haltingly.

 

“You’re not.” Bucky opened the cupboard and stared at the contents. “Tea?” he offered.

 

After a brief pause, he said, “Please.”

 

While Bucky busied himself with the tea, Pushka returned to the kitchen, struggling to drag something thick and heavy with her. Bucky realized, as he she dropped it at Steve’s feet, that it was his comforter, and she’d dragged right off his bed.

 

“Your cat just brought me a blanket,” Steve slowly as he tried to understand what was happening.

 

Bucky shot her a puzzled look, but she ignored him in favour of lovingly putting one of her paws on Steve’s knee.

 

However, Pushka’s actions suddenly made sense when Bucky realized that Steve was shaking. He wasn’t sure how it escaped his notice before, especially given how thin Steve’s jacket was. The white shirt underneath was soaked from the rain.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Bucky said. He ran upstairs before Steve could answer.

 

It was a small relief to shed the wet clothes and put on something dry. After he dug around to find the smallest articles of clothing he owned, Bucky went back downstairs to find Pushka still staring adoringly up at Steve. He was gingerly petting her head, as if he was unsure of whether he was doing it right. She seemed to be enjoying it all the same, if her purring was any indication.

 

“Here,” Bucky said as he shoved the bundle of clothes at Steve. “There’s a bathroom down the hall you can use.”

 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Steve tried to refuse, but Bucky interrupted him.

 

“Put them on,” Bucky insisted firmly, “before you get hypothermia.”

 

Reluctantly, Steve accepted the clothes. When he came back to the kitchen a few minutes later, he stopped in the doorway. Bucky turned around to look at him.

 

Bucky’s shirt and sweatpants were comically overlarge on Steve’s small frame. The bottom of the baggy pants were rolled up several times to keep him from tripping on them, and the drawstrings were pulled tight. Despite that, the pants still looked like they were in danger of slipping off his hips.

 

Unconsciously, Bucky licked his lips, but he quickly reeled his mind back from where it was dangerously heading.

 

“You look good,” he managed to say.

                                                                                                                 

Steve snorted and tugged at the dark t-shirt. “I feel like a kid playing dress-up.”

 

He let Steve sit down first before he wrapped the comforter around Steve’s shoulders. Steve put up some half-hearted protests, but Pushka distracted him by taking the chance to jump onto his lap. She wormed her way into the folds of the blanket until her dark head poked out where the edges overlapped. Resting her head again Steve’s chest, she stated to purr again.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure to laugh or glare jealously at his cat, but the whistle of the kettle redirected his attention. He carefully measured out the dried leaves from the canisters, and added an extra teaspoon of anthemis leaves to Steve’s tea bag to warm him up faster.

 

When he turned around again, Bucky saw that Steve had tilted his chin down and had half-buried his face into Bucky’s blanket. He looked peaceful and relaxed, but when he saw that Bucky was watching him in amusement, Steve’s head jerked back up again.

 

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” Bucky said lightly.

 

“Right,” muttered Steve, his face reddening as looked away. “I was falling asleep.”

 

Bucky set the mugs of tea on the round table, and watched as Steve wrapped his paint-stained hands around the hot porcelain. Bucky sat down as well, feeling too awkward to stand.

 

“I never actually got your name,” Steve said as he carefully sipped the tea.

 

“Oh,” Bucky exclaimed, mildly embarrassed by his lack of manners before quickly introducing himself.

 

The corners of Steve’s mouth pulled up in a genuine smile that sent a sensation of warmth trickling down Bucky’s spine.

 

They were quiet for a little while as Steve slowly sipped his tea. Bucky could see Steve gradually loosen up. His body wasn’t held quite as tightly, and he sat comfortably in the chair like he’d sat in that kitchen a hundred times before.

 

“What’s in this anyways?” Steve asked, breaking the silence and looking down at his mug.

 

“Mostly chamomile, ginger, and honey.” Bucky didn’t mention the magical herbs he’d added in.

 

“I like it,” Steve decided. “Better than the stuff I get at the grocery store.”

 

“It’s because I blend my own teas.”

 

“You’re very good at it,” Steve complimented.

 

The comment made Bucky swell with satisfaction, and he beamed at Steve. "I’m good at lots of _other_ things too.”

 

Unfortunately, the line was delivered just as Steve swallowed. He choked and started coughing. He managed to regain control over himself fairly quickly, albeit with a look of sheepish embarrassment.

 

Despite feeling a bit guilty, Bucky had to bite his lip to hide the involuntary smirk.

 

“Sorry,” Steve stammered. He wiped his chin and the damp front of the shirt with the towel he’d had pressed to his lip earlier. He missed a droplet which was now sliding down his neck towards the collar. Bucky stared at it in odd fascination until Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably and Bucky’s attention snapped back.

 

“Uh,” Steve started uncertainly.

 

“Do you live in the area?” Bucky cut in, smoothly changing the subject.

 

“Not in the immediate area. I live not too far from here, but I’ve been working at the community center.”

 

“You’re a counsellor?” he guessed.

 

“No, actually, they want to me to paint a mural in the foyer.”

 

“So, you’re an artist,” he said with admiration. As someone who could barely draw stick figure people, Bucky had a lot of respect for people with artistic skills.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said with a shrug. His hands wrapped tighter around the handle. “I do portraits, paintings, anything I can get, really. Artists aren’t exactly in high demand though. Sometimes, I do extra housework for Mr. Phillips when his arthritis is acting up and I’m short on rent.”

 

“So, what kind of art do you do?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve’s eyes lit up and he started talking animatedly about the superhero-themed mural he was working on and the commission requests he got.

 

“I’m rambling,” he said when he realized how long he’d been talking.

 

“Not at all,” Bucky reassured. In truth, listening to Steve made Bucky briefly forget how exhausted he was. He was more relaxed now than he had been the entire evening.

 

Steve shook his head. “I don’t mean to go on and on. It’s just that it’s been a long day. You’ve been so nice to me and you’re easy to talk to. Plus, it really doesn’t hurt that you’re the most gor—” Steve inhaled sharply and snapped his jaw shut with an audible click.

 

“Steve? You okay?” Bucky asked in concern.

 

“I can’t believe I almost just said that you’re—” Steve stopped again. His eyes widened in horror.

 

After Bucky got over his initial confusion, he realized that he’d put too much white chrysanthemum into the tea, and now it was affecting Steve’s brain-to-mouth filter. Bucky should have taken Steve’s size into account, but he hadn’t considered it at the time.

 

Both of them sat frozen, unsure of what to do next.

 

“It’s late. I need to go now,” Steve said quickly. He moved to stand up, but got part way before he realized that there was still a snoozing cat on him, and now he was stuck in an awkward, hovering pose.

 

Bucky rescued Pushka before she could slide off, and set her on the floor where she looked up at them in sleepy concern.

 

He was torn between wanting Steve to stay and letting him go, but he watched silently as Steve threw on his wet jacket and grabbed his damp clothes.

 

“I might have an umbrella somewhere,” Bucky offered. It was still raining out there, but it sounded like the downpour from earlier had died down to a mild drizzle. He followed Steve who retreated down the hall to the door he’d come through earlier.

 

“No,” Steve said before pressing his lips together, as if he didn’t trust himself to say anything else.

 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything else I could help you with?”

 

“No,” he said firmly again.

 

Bucky wanted to apologize for the tea, but he couldn’t say anything without having to also explain that he’d put enchanted leaves in. Instead, he unlocked the back door and held it open.

 

Steve paused before leaving. “Thank you… for everything,” he murmured.

 

“Try not to start anymore fights tonight,” Bucky said with a wry smile.

 

“Goodbye,” Steve replied with slow deliberation before he slipped back into the night.

 

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Possible trigger warnings:** Bucky makes a cup of tea for Steve, but he accidentally puts too much of a magical ingredient in. It causes Steve to over-relax and can't control his mouth filter.
> 
> \---  
> Shout out to my [beta-reader](http://iceburd.tumblr.com/) for helping!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the encouragement!! It has been really motivating when it got hard to write! As always, your comments are always welcome and appreciated! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, consider [ reblogging](http://chrisevansleftboob.tumblr.com/post/132030290009/something-wicked-author-interruptingdinosaur) it? Also, my [ tumblr](http://chrisevansleftboob.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hi.
> 
> Also:  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

Most mornings, Bucky had his usual routine: eat breakfast, check his phone for news and updates, enjoy his coffee or tea, and then head downstairs to the shop. However, on Thursday, Bucky had errands to run so he ate quickly and fed Pushka early.

 

The morning had started out with a brilliant sunrise that had peeked through Bucky’s blinds. He’d checked the forecast yesterday and while reports had said there was very little chance of precipitation, Natasha had snorted and warned Bucky to take an umbrella with him if he was going out. Between meteorologists and Natasha, Bucky would put money on Natasha any day.

 

Pushka, not wanting to be left out on an opportunity for an adventure, insisted on coming with him. After much insistence (that is, she flitted out the door before Bucky could close it quick enough), he relented and let her walk along beside him. He deliberately slowed his pace to keep from tiring her out too quickly.

 

The kittens were due soon. Pushka had already started to look for a nesting spot and she was sleeping more often now. Bucky still hadn’t decided what he was going to do with the extra kittens. His small, living space was too small to host a family of cats for an extended period of time, but he still hadn’t come up with any solutions yet.

 

Bucky felt the humming of the magic wrapped around their neighbourhood. It had a dreamlike quality to the picturesque buildings: a veneer of charm mixed in with a sense of antiquity. It seemed out of place, like a neighbourhood that time forgot while the rest of the city changed and moved on.

 

On the way, they passed by the flower shop that was next to The Red Room. It wasn’t open yet, but somewhere above them, Bucky could hear the echo of Phil’s voice from the rooftop garden. During the spring and summer, a rainbow of flowers usually spilled out of the shop and onto the streets in colourful display. A careful arrangement gladiolas and zinnias in the window made Bucky pause for a moment as he made a mental note to stop by later this week to pick up snaps of evergreen cedar.  

 

Across the street, Bucky waved at Thor who was setting up the table umbrellas on the patio. He could smell the scent of fresh bread wafting through the air. It made Bucky’s mouth water even though he’d already eaten breakfast. Thor waved back enthusiastically and Bucky crossed the street to greet him. Thor was jovial, as always, his friendly presence a constant in all the years that Bucky had known him. His looked ruggedly handsome in the morning light even though his golden hair was dusted in flour.

 

“I have something in the oven that will be ready in five minutes. Stay and have one,” Thor offered. “It’s something new I’m trying.” He winked.

 

“I can’t now,” Bucky declined regretfully. “Maybe on my way back.” He had a schedule to keep, but he was already making plans in the back of his mind to stop in after he was finished to get his favorite white chocolate and cranberry scones.

 

“Your companion seems to disagree.”

 

They looked down at Pushka who was rubbing her head against Thor’s leg, clearly not intimidated by the fact that he was a demi-god. Thor laughed in good humor before fishing out a small biscuit from his red apron pocket and offering it to her. When Pushka returned to Bucky’s side, her fur stood up on end from the static Thor exuded. After saying goodbye to Thor, they continued on their way.

 

Towards the end of the street, there sat a toy shop. The deceptively small building blended in with all the other buildings on the street. Age had exposed a corner of dusty brickwork, and dirt coated the windows. The large sign that hung above might have been grand once, but most of the gold lettering on Stark’s Toy Emporium had peeled off, and the scarlet paint had faded with the years.

 

In the darkened window, the little sign was flipped to closed, but as Bucky approached, the doors swung open on their own before he even had a chance to touch them. The building had been expecting Bucky—had been patiently waiting for him for almost a week now. He would have come sooner but he hadn’t possessed all the necessary supplies yet.

 

Inside, the shop opened up to an impossibly large foyer of space. The domed skylight shone down on the chaos of whimsical dreams and vivacious colors. There was no sign of Tony anywhere among the bustling toys that went about their own business.

 

Bucky checked his watch just as the train made its appearance along the upper perimeter of the walls. It sounded its horn seven times as it chugged along the track before disappearing back into an opening of the wall, leaving behind little puffs of smoke.

 

A cheeky glider lazily flew by, just barely missing the top of Bucky’s head, before it curved gracefully upwards in the air and looped around again. It continued to show off, dodging the other hot air balloons that floated carelessly and aimlessly. The silk fabric of the balloons, vibrant and sheer, cast coloured squares of colours on the floor from the bright rays of sun.

 

There was an intricately detailed dollhouse propped open by one wall, and it caught Pushka’s attention. Inside, its occupants were having sat at the polished, wooden table, their stiff limbs raising the tiny cups to their painted mouths. As Pushka approached to investigate, the dolls hid underneath the small table in alarm, but after she laid down to watch them motionlessly, they eventually resumed their tea party

 

After a few minutes, a display of miniature wild animals in an alcove distracted Puska yet again.  A pride of lions snoozed under a tree while the elephants, giraffes, and zebras peacefully meandered around them in the grass.

 

Bucky, finally tired of waiting, called out for Tony. His voice reverberated against the walls and echoed faintly throughout the building.

 

There was no response at first until a voice said, “Oh, it’s you.”

 

Bucky looked up to see Tony leaning over the open, upper level balcony which overlooked the shop floor. He looked rather harried, like he usually did when he hadn’t slept for a couple of days.

 

“I was hoping Pym would be back.”

 

“Hope or Hank?” Bucky asked.

 

“Either. Both.”

 

“I guess you’re stuck with me.”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.” Tony motioned for Bucky to follow him.

 

The interior of the building reminded Bucky very much of the honeycombs in a beehive. The spacious rooms all branched off and connected to adjoining, hexagonal rooms. It was easy to get lost, but Tony knew his way around. Or, rather, the rooms moved around to suit Tony.  

 

Past the heavy curtains, Tony’s workroom was even bigger than the main floor. Tall, round windows lit up the space where various toys and gadgets sat in the mid-stages of development.

 

Careful not to accidentally step on any tools or parts scattered on the floor, Bucky suddenly stopped short to find himself staring at the top half of a robot, suspended in mid-air from invisible strings. It was deeply unsettling. Its red eyes stared off into space, but Bucky sensed that it was somehow watching him.

 

 

“Another half-finished project?” Bucky asked without taking his eyes off of the creation.

 

“Don’t touch it,” Tony warned. “I haven’t worked the kinks out of that one and it already tried to rip the stuffing out of Jarvis once. Literally.”

 

Hearing its name, a blue dog with fabric patch stitched onto its side slowly came out from under one of the tables. Its glass marble eyes twinkled intelligently as it studied Bucky before turning its attention to Pushka who had started sniffing it.

 

Bucky gave one last glance at the bifurcated toy and turned back to Tony. “Get rid of it,” he warned. “Whatever dark magic you’re playing with, it’s not going to end well.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tony said with a wave of a hand. “That’s the last time I buy a Sokovian grimoire off the street.” He added with a wry smile. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve done though.”

 

Bucky could sense Jarvis rolling its eyes, and Tony was right. This wasn’t as bad as the time Tony had a couple of drinks and ended up unknowingly buying an illegal egg from a stranger in a Folk bar. The egg, looking like a jagged piece of rock and being mistaken as such, ended up in the cellar where it eventually hatched into a Chimera.

 

It had been explosive, to say the least, and bloody too.  Thankfully, there were more than enough Folk in the vicinity that kept the situation under control. In the confusion of containing the raging beast, several of the Folk hadn’t bothered putting on their glamours, and Bucky was never going to look at Phil quite the same way again, no matter how non-threatening of his daily appearance was. He couldn’t remember another time when he had been both terrified and in awe of Pepper’s true form either.

 

Tony had had “words” over that incident with the Council and was supposedly reprimanded. Bucky never did hear about any other details beyond that, and Tony was surprisingly tight-lipped on the topic.

 

“So,” Tony started with his arms spread. “I guess I’ll get out of your way. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky said gratefully. This was going to take a few hours and he needed to concentrate.

 

While Tony went back to tinker with the clock mechanism of a wind-up toy, Bucky put the flat of his palm on the one the walls and closed his eyes. He could feel the way the energy flowed through the buildings and the different frequencies of magic humming. Following the familiar pull, he let his mind wander and follow the current as he searched out the weakened spots from room to room.

 

Bucky’s wards were not nearly as powerful in comparison to other Witches’ work. Most of the time, he left warding to those more capable than him (meaning Wanda), but this particular building needed Bucky’s gentle coaxing before the wards would take.

 

Tony was powerful, the ancient magic of his blood not having been dulled at all by his half-human ancestry. He needed hornbeam and black ash wood built into the structure and floors of the building to would absorb the excess of his work. However, they were sensitive woods and the trade-off was that they would not be able to withstand Wanda’s harsher, though stronger, magic.

 

Bucky’s warding was still very much rooted in the natural and the living. He needed to do this every few months to strengthen them. He replaced the bundle of dried yew and Agaschte berries over the doors, and painted runes over the windows with Ingread Leaf tea, reciting the familiar, ancient words as he did each task.

 

After he finished, he could feel the building sigh in relief. He was pleased with his work, but he felt drained and tired. A headache was growing in the back of his skull. The tingling and sensitive skin on the back of his neck told him it would turn into a migraine if he didn’t do anything about it soon.

 

Tony invited him to stay for a while, though, thankfully, not in the same room as the cursed robot. The doorway which Bucky had come through earlier now led to a cozy sitting room. It was tastefully decorated with pastel wallpaper and ivory trim, which meant Pepper had probably chosen it.

 

A pot of coffee and porcelain cups awaited them, but the plates of pastries were brought in by a teddy bear and on the back of a zooming truck that waited patiently for the plates to be removed before it whizzed back out of the room. It seemed like Tony had gone out to Thor’s while Bucky was working and he was grateful for the food.

 

Their conversation consisted mostly of Tony talking with Bucky occasionally offering up his opinion. Bucky didn’t mind being the one who listened. He actually preferred it that way. Tony’s mind, always two steps ahead, tended to jump from one topic to another and it was usually just easier to nod quietly.

 

“There’s unrest in the Council,” Tony said, biting into a lemon cookie and dropping crumbs all over himself.

 

“There’s always unrest with them,” Bucky replied, unperturbed.

 

It was true. There always seemed to be talk about squabbles and disagreement among the Council, even though no one really knew who its members were. They had a hand in everything, making sure that the Folk and non-magical peoples were kept safe from each other. The full extent of the Council’s power was unknown, but their influence seemed limitless.

 

“Something’s different this time.”

 

“Nothing is different. Well, other than the fact that I have that following me around now.” Bucky motioned to Pushka who lay on the pillow that Tony had put out for her. A plush elephant had cuddled up to her and now they both snoozed in a sunbeam.

 

Tony leaned forward in his seat. “There have been rumours of a prophecy.”

 

Bucky furrowed his brow. Prophecies usually did more bad than good. They were only one possible version of events, and like the nature of all volatile things, could change in the flicker of an instant. “I thought you knew better than to listen to those.”

 

“I know but—” Tony paused, “but there’s been a name attached to it.”

 

“Whose?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tony said. Bucky waited, his coffee cup still held in the air. He weighed the pros and cons of asking Tony what else he knew, but Tony, seemingly reading his mind, added, “I haven’t heard anything else.”

 

Tony was not someone who usually listened to such speculations. He clearly knew more than he let on, or he would not have been so shaken.

 

“Nothing is set in stone,” Bucky reminded him lightly.

 

“Let’s just hope it will not end like last time,” Tony said gravely.

 

\---

 

By lunch time, the sky had turned dark and the cold wind had picked up. Natasha was gone for the afternoon to visit with Pepper and Maria, leaving Bucky to mind the business. However, she did promise to bring him back a custard Danish if he helped her replace the burnt bulb from her chandelier.

 

He was in the midst of the screwing in a new bulb when he heard a wailing meow from the front of the store.

 

“I’m little busy right now,” he called.

 

When Bucky didn’t come right away, Pushka dashed in the parlour and yowled at him again. She didn’t go away. Instead, she paced around the base of the ladder until he finally finished his task. She mewed at him again, walking a few steps towards the shop, and then looking back to see if he was following.

 

“Yes, okay, I’m coming. What is it this time? Did you see a Brownie again? I hope you left it alone,” Bucky said, remembering the last time Pushka had come across one of the household Folk. She’d caught the little, wizened creature and had it writhing and struggling between her paws before Bucky made her let it go.

 

He had left out the expensive, mulled, Goblin wine for them in penance, and hoped hard for forgiveness, but even that wasn’t enough. He’d woken up, upside down, on the ceiling the next morning. Wanda had to come over to get him down because neither Natasha nor Clint couldn’t stop laughing long enough to help him. 

 

Pushka hadn’t escaped unscathed either. She had a sneezing jinx that was timed ten seconds apart for the next three days. It had been funny until she tried to eat and ended up sneezing food all over the place, and Bucky was the one who had to clean it up.

 

“You’re lucky they didn’t curse you and the next five generations of your bloodline,” he had muttered to Pushka after he’d finished mopping up half chewed food for the fifth time on the second day.

 

“That’s Leprechauns,” Natasha had reminded him. “The Brownies aren’t that bloodthirsty, and they’ll get over it eventually.”

 

Bucky hoped that “eventually” meant really soon because his bookshelf was jumbled and his closet was a haphazard of unorganized mess. He had come to rely on the household Folk to help him tidy up the little things, and with them gone, he had been forced to pick up the slack.

 

Bucky tossed the old bulb and let Pushka lead him back to the front. She stopped, looking up expectantly at him, and meowed again when he didn’t do anything. He picked her up and peered outside the window, not seeing anything particularly out of the ordinary at first. “There’s nothing there,” he started, but the words were cut short when Bucky caught sight of who was standing outside.

 

At first glance, Steve seemed unremarkable, just another person on the other side of the street, but Bucky felt a jittery jump inside of him. Even in the gray light of the day, there was something magnetic about him that held Bucky’s attention longer than it should have.

 

In truth, Steve had crossed Bucky’s mind once or twice since he had seen him, but between the disaster with the tea and the hasty departure, Bucky didn’t think he would see him again.

 

Despite that, Steve was back. He looked nervous as the wind ruffled his hair. One had was tucked into his jacket pocket. He took a step forward, but then rocked back on his heels. Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, he checked his watch and straightened his shoulders. He crossed the street with a look a determination, and Bucky took a beat too long to realize that Steve was coming here.

 

He scrambled to put Pushka down and tried to appear like he wasn’t just watching at the window. He considered his stool behind the counter, but, instead, settled on pretending he was arranging a pyramid of marbled soap bars even though they were already organized to his satisfaction. Pushka sat expectantly in front of the door, her tail swishing back and forth in anticipation.

 

However, the door didn’t open immediately like he’d thought. Bucky stood there for several more moments before frowning and turning towards the door. It didn’t take that long to cross the street. He was starting to think that he’d assumed wrong and that Steve was just passing by when the door finally opened with its usual jingle.

 

Pushka launched forward and immediately twined herself around Steve’s legs before he could take two steps. He almost tripped over her. “Oh, hi,” he said to her in surprise when he caught his balance.

 

Bucky directed a tired and audible sigh towards his overeager cat who had the subtly of a charging Gryphon, but at least Pushka took a step back after her initial greeting to give Steve some room. She wasn’t like this with anyone else and Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what it was about this guy that had her so enamoured.

 

Steve glanced in Bucky’s direction. “Oh, uh…” he started.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky apologized for his cat, and not for the first time either.

 

He gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the most attention I’ve gotten from anyone all week.”

 

Bucky was about to say that he found that hard to believe, but remembered that they were still strangers, and he bit his tongue before it slipped out. Instead, he casually asked “Steve, right?”

 

“Yeah.” He sounded surprised that Bucky remembered his name. “You’re Bucky.”

 

“So, what can I do for you?” he asked.

 

“I’m, uh, just dropping off your clothes,” Steve said. He held up the plastic bag almost as an afterthought, like he’d forgotten he had it. “They’re washed,” he added quickly. “Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

 

“Oh, thanks,” said Bucky. He didn’t move to take the bag right away and there was that awkward moment again where neither of them moved. “You could have kept them. They’re old anyways,” he said. He really hadn’t thought Steve would go the trouble of returning them.

 

“I couldn’t do that,” Steve said in seriousness. “They’re yours.”

 

Bucky took the bag, but as he looked closer, he noticed another faint bruise on his left cheek. It wasn’t there the other night.

 

“How are you feeling today?” Bucky asked.

 

“Good,” Steve said simply.

 

“Sure,” Bucky said, not believing a second of it. “I thought I told you not to start any more fights,” he said lightly as he tipped his head to indicate the bruise.

 

Steve had reached up to touch his face with a look of mild surprise, almost as if he’d just remembered it was there. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed with an edge of warning to leave the issue alone.

 

It seemed this guy had a knack for finding trouble. Bucky wanted to say something else, but he knew it wasn’t his business.

 

Clearing his throat, Steve glanced around the shop fully for the first time. “You’ve, uh, got quite the selection,” he said, changing the subject.

 

“Yeah. Soaps, candles, I’m your guy.” Internally Bucky winced at how inelegant that sounded.

 

Steve wandered over to peer at a display of lip balms. Pushka trailed behind him and Bucky resisted the urge to do the same. “You make your own stuff?” He looked impressed as he turned over a bar of soap that was artfully tied together with twine and stickered with a label. Clint had called it hipster, but Bucky prided himself on the artistry of his packaging.

 

“Got to make a living somehow,” Bucky said.

 

“Yeah, this wasn’t really what I expected from a shop called ‘The Red Room’.”

 

“You can say that it sounds a sex shop. You wouldn’t be the first person to say that,” Bucky said with a wide grin. He was rewarded with a laugh from Steve.

 

Steve moved on to the candles, picking the jasmine and green tea one at random and sniffing it. “These all seem really nice.”

 

“I have jasmine soaps too, if you want.”

 

Steve looked guilty as he put the candle back in its spot. “I’m actually allergic to a lot of soaps,” he admitted.

 

“All of my stuff is organic. I promise you can use them,” Bucky reassured. His hypoallergenic spells cancelled out any reactions from individual users, making his soaps ideal for all skin types. However, Steve still looked skeptical, so Bucky picked up a bar of honey and oatmeal and held it out to him. “Try it.”

 

Steve took the soap hesitantly before glancing down at his watch. His eyes widened as he realized the time. “I have to go. I’m going to be late,” he gasped. He fumbled for his wallet. “How much?”

 

“Don’t worry about it. On the house,” Bucky said. Then, as an afterthought, added, “For bringing my clothes back to me.”

 

Steve paused before pulling out a bill. “I can pay for it,” he insisted firmly. “And they were your clothes in the first place.”

 

Bucky tried to stop him. “New promotion today. Sample the soap. If you like it, you can come back and pay for it.”

 

Steve put the money on the counter anyways, still refusing to accept Bucky’s offer. “If I like it, I’ll come back for more,” he said firmly.

 

“Do you always insist on paying for free stuff?”

 

“Only when I don’t deserve it.” He smiled warmly. “You pulled me out of the rain. This is the least I can do.”

 

Steve gave Pushka one last scratch behind the ears before disappearing out the door. Pushka stared at the door for a while and when it was clear that Steve wasn’t coming back, she huffed and disappeared down the little hallway, probably to nap in the kitchen.

 

Ringing the money through the till, Bucky tried not to replay the conversation too much in his head. When the rain finally fell in pouring torrents, he almost convinced himself that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing Steve again.

 

 

\---

 

Over the next couple of days, Bucky was occupied by other pressing matters. The kittens finally arrived. Two of them were all black like their mother but the last one had little, white paws. Pushka had chosen a corner of his hall closet for her nest, and Bucky tried to make sure she and the new kittens were as comfortable as possible. She mostly slept. Bucky, though, was constantly back and forth to check on her. They kept him busy, so when Steve was back two days later, he took Bucky by surprise.

 

Natasha had taken the day off. She’d overexerted herself the day previous and needed some time to recuperate. Once again, it was only Bucky in the shop. He’d turned on the radio because it felt too quiet.

 

The door opened and Steve stepped in. He seemed just as hesitant was before with his hands tucked into his pockets, but his smile was bright. “Hi,” he said.

 

“Hey,” Bucky replied. He closed his spell book and slipped it under the counter. “You’re back. I’m guessing the soap worked?”

 

Steve held out his hands, displaying his slender, artist’s fingers. “Hands haven’t fallen off yet.” He smirked, proud of his own joke, and even Bucky had to grin at that. “Do you have anything else?”

 

“Here, let me how you something.” Bucky showed him some other scents and soaps, holding each kind for Steve to cautiously sniff. A couple of them made him sneeze, but for the most part, Steve seemed to enjoy everything Bucky stuck under his nose.

 

Steve felt small to Bucky when they stood next to each other. Or rather, Bucky felt big and clumsy next to Steve. He noted, in the back of his mind, that Steve was just past Bucky’s chin for height, and if he could probably fit under Bucky’s chin if he were to wrap his arms around him.

 

Something about Steve made Bucky want him. It wasn’t a surprising revelation, but it still took Bucky aback. His last relationships were short and hardly memorable, and he was usually the one who ended them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a strong pull towards someone he’d met only a handful of times.

 

“Do you have anything that would wash out oil paints from my brushes?” Steve asked. “I hate the smell of turpentine, but it’s all I’ve got right now.”

 

“I don’t really know how well they’d work for that,” Bucky admitted. “I’ll look into it,” he promised.

 

Steve turned to him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to go out of your way. I was just asking.”

 

“No trouble at all,” he replied. It was another excuse to see Steve again, but Bucky was past lying to himself.

 

“So, the sign outside says you also offer palm readings and séances,” Steve said casually as he piled his purchases on the counter. He’d picked out a few different bars of soap along with a dreamless sleep candle he said might be helpful for his friend.  

 

“Ah,” Bucky gave a short laugh as he rang the items through. “Yeah, that’s my partner’s area of expertise,” he said. “You’ll have to come back another day for that.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said with a nod, but Bucky could read the slight slump in his shoulders

 

“I mean, I could _probably_ do the palm reading, but you’d have to promise me to not to see your expectations high,” Bucky offered.

 

Steve’s smile returned and he extended his hand out like it was a challenge. “Okay, fine. Tell me my future.”

 

Steve’s hand was cool against his own, and as Bucky turned it over, he noticed the remnants of paint still on his skin. It was like he had washed his hands in a hurry. There was just the faintest hint of Prussian blue in the creases of his palm, a hint of cadmium yellow on a knuckle, and a fleck of crimson just on the underside of his wrist when his sleeve slid up. Bucky made a show of humming deliberately and exaggeratedly squinting at Steve’s hand.

 

He’d meant what he’d said earlier. This really was not Bucky’s area of expertise, but he did remember the few lessons his grandmother had taught him. It was more complicated than Bucky really cared to learn about. There were too many nuances and margins for error with palm readings.

 

Yet, as Bucky looked closer, he recognized a particular path that ran downwards on Steve’s palm, crossing with another parallel crease. It was almost the same line on Bucky’s own skin, and he remembered his grandmother’s harrowing words when he was ten years old. A warning. A stranger. Death.

 

However, unlike Bucky’s, Steve’s line sharply branched off into two directions. A choice, and from the depth and crisscross of additional grooves, it was not an easy one. There was more to it, but nothing that Bucky could understand.

 

“It’s usually not very comforting when it goes quiet.” Steve’s voice jolted Bucky back to the present.

 

Bucky blinked, but pasted on a smile. “It says you’ll be back,” he said, taking care to keep his tone light and teasing. He let go of Steve’s hand, but not before Bucky trailed his fingers lightly over the skin one last time.

 

Steve flushed, but laughed anyways. “Maybe,” he said.

 

“Maybe,” Bucky echoed with a smirk.

 

Steve didn’t say anything else as he gathered his purchases, but he did smile promisingly at Bucky before he left.

 

As soon as the door closed behind Steve, Bucky dropped the façade. He clenched his own shaking hand, trying to rid himself of the unclear sense of dread that had just settled over him.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hi, hello. I am alive. Life has just been very busy since last November. 
> 
> Thank you all for your support. Your encouragement has kept me going even when it got really tough. Comments are always appreciated and are like warm hugs. 
> 
> -
> 
> Thank you to AlexandriaKeating ([ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandriakeating/works), [tumblr](http://alexandriakeating.tumblr.com/)) for being the best cheerleader, support team, and beta reader all rolled into one amazing person.
> 
> I'm also on [ tumblr](http://chrisevansleftboob.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hi.


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